Sick day
by Tiffany1502
Summary: One day before Inazuma Japan's match against China, Tatsuya gets sick and may not be able to play.


**Hello~  
****I'm happy to share this HiroTatsu oneshot :3 As I use to say, my english is not perfect so ****I'm sorry I may have made mistakes, but I hope you will like it :3 Please do not hesitate to correct if needed, I will be very happy to have the opportunity to improve my english!**

**Please enjoy! **

* * *

Since the FFI had started, the Inazuma Japan players had not really had a second of respite. The trainings were chained, alternated with the matches, which easily left the fatigue time to creep into each player. Yet they all ignored the constant numbness of their muscles, the weakening of their bodies.

Lunch had thus become one of the pillars of their physical equilibrium. Some took advantage of eating much more than their bodies needed, while others managed to maintain a balanced diet despite the wide choice of dishes. Seated at a table, both of them, as usual, Tatsuya and Shirou were silently facing their plates, probably the only ones filled _correctly_.

"Kiyama, are you sure you're okay?"

Tatsuya quickly raised his head to face Shirou when he heard his name. With such a sudden gesture, his vision was immediately disturbed, and it took him a few short seconds for his pupils to get used to his surroundings again, since his vision was quite blurry.

"Yes, sorry, I was lost in my thought..."

"Your face is red," Shirou remarked. "Are you sure you feel good?"

As if these words, yet benevolent, had allowed the click, the red-haired teen felt his head become horribly heavy. His plate, still full, repelled him to the highest point, without knowing why. A hand rested on his forehead, and it was only by opening his eyes that Tatsuya realized he had closed them, he did not know when.

"Hey, you got a fever," Shirou said with his usual calm and gentle voice. "You should go to rest!"

Several heads turned to look at the boy's words before some of them approached. From a distance, Hiroto watched the scene, motionless and frowning, beside Haizaki. Their rivalry had created a strange relationship between them, so much so that they regularly shared their meal, out of habit and competition. It was sometimes to the one who ate the spiciest, or the biggest plate.

Yet at that very moment, Hiroto really did not care about his meal – which he still held in his hands as he prepared to go and sit down – nor about Haizaki's presence, who was also looking at the scene disinterestedly.

Tatsuya, feverish? The next playoff match was drawing near, and it seemed like he was spending most of his evenings training, in addition to daily training with the rest of the team. He wanted to finally be able to play and be up to the other members. And obviously, it was not going to be possible.

"Kazemaru, can you take Fubuki and Kiyama to your room?" Endou said as he approached, having realized that Tatsuya did not really seem to be doing well.

Kazemaru nodded approvingly and got up to perform, under the gaze of the curly-haired boy who had finally sat down. Shirou ran a hand through Tatsuya's back when noting that Tatsuya was struggling to walk, probably unbalanced.

"It is with this appetite that you hope you'll surpass the demon that I am?" Haizaki said, seeing that Hiroto, facing him, was not touching his plate.

"Ah?"

The temptation of telling him to shut up was great. Far too great. But not as much as the annoyance he felt watching Tatsuya, Fubuki and Kazemaru leave the dining room. Those hands that touched Tatsuya's waist to help him walk irritated him to the highest point, so that Haizaki's derogatory tone seemed derisory to him.

"He annoys me," he mumbled without taking his eyes off them until they had passed the door.

Haizaki arched an inquiring eyebrow before struggling with the urge to turn, out of curiosity, to know who he was talking about. But quickly, he scowled to return his attention to his plate. As if he cared about what could influence Hiroto's mood. Surely not.

However, it had to admit that seeing Hiroto with that kind of a face had the merit of catching his attention. Why on earth their teammate getting sick made him feel that way?

"I'm leaving," Hiroto finally said with anger, getting up and not bothering to clear his tray.

Even before anyone had time to say anything, he had already left the room to roam the corridors. From time to time, he glanced at his phone, probably more out of habit than because he was waiting for a message. Unconsciously, his steps guided him to his own room, into which he penetrated to sink on his bed. This situation annoyed him, irritated him to such an extent that he could not sort through the tumultuous flow of his thoughts.

If Tatsuya was sick, he probably could not play the next match. How could this idiot get sick at such an important moment? Really, they were not helped, with this team. With Gouenji's injury, he was assured of playing the next game. So, Tatsuya did not have the right to run away. That would be too easy, would not it?

Earphones in his ears, Hiroto closed his eyelids for a moment, before the image of Shirou's hands on Tatsuya that had irritated him so much resurfaced in his mind. He opened his eyes sharply, not without releasing a groan of discontent, before standing up.

"Well," he let go despite himself while getting up. "It pisses me off."

He snatched the earphones off his ears, unplugged them from his phone, and left the room with heavy steps. Without having time to realize it, his walk had guided him to Tatsuya and Kazemaru's room, in front of which he remained in suspense for some time. A few whispers managed to get through the door, but he could not understand what was said, or even recognize a voice, although he assumed it was Fubuki and Kazemaru.

Without knocking and without the slightest delicacy, Hiroto opened the door. Two pairs of eyes turned in his direction, and he could see that his two teammates were visibly preparing to leave the room.

"What?" he growled simply in front of their insistent glances. "Don't I have the right to be there?"

"You do..." Kazemaru replied, slightly disconcerted by his attitude. "That's good, you can stay a little with him like that, we were going to finish eating."

Hiroto let out a simple "mhh" as an approval, and they both left the room, closing the door behind them. A strange and heavy calm then crept into the room, before Tatsuya decided to break the silence by straightening up to sit down.

"Ridiculous, huh?" he whispered. "Getting sick the day before the match for which I was training…"

"Lie down, idiot. Keep your strength."

A smile appeared on Tatsuya's face as he was executing, astonishingly docile.

"To say that I hoped to be able to play with you again, tomorrow…"

Hiroto swallowed, not at all prepared for this confession, but did not answer. He just sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to admit how much it somehow made him happy.

"But I'm happy, if you take the trouble to worry and come…"

"Oh, you're much too talkative, especially for a sick person."

However, despite the detachment of his words, he could not stop his face from starting to heat up. He had not prepared himself psychologically, coming here, to such honesty and spontaneity.

And his heart, which began to race way too fast, did not help at all.

"Say, Hiroto, just now—"

"Sleep," he cut him. "You better play tomorrow, so sleep and get better."

Once again, a broad smile grew on Tatsuya's lips. His face, sometimes pale, sometimes as red as his hair, was tense and showed how much he did not feel well. However, his hand came out from under the blanket to come to pose with extreme delicacy on Hiroto's, who had a slight burst of surprise. His pink eyes wandered in disbelief between that burning hand on his own, and the face of his possessor, though he did not disengage himself from it.

A soothing and yet charged silence had been shown between them with gentleness, while they remained motionless. Tatsuya was the first to break this calm by removing his hand to raise it towards Hiroto's face. His fingers slowly touched his half-open lips like a subliminal message it was impossible not to understand.

Tatsuya sick was not good for the heart!

As the frantic race of his heart continued, Hiroto jumped suddenly when he heard the door open on his back. He turned and saw Kazemaru in the entrance. His arching eyebrows and embarrassed look made it easy to understand that the path of Tatsuya's hand had not escaped him.

"Oï!" Hiroto exclaimed, getting up abruptly, to Tatsuya. "I told you to sleep, so you sleep!"

Without the least delicacy, he grabbed the blanket to bring it back to the midfielder's face, to illustrate his words, before leaving the room with an angry step by slamming the door behind him. Kazemaru repeatedly blinked, shrugging his shoulders and grabbing the phone he came to pick up.

As he walked down the corridors with heavy footsteps and almost making the walls shake, Hiroto ran his fingers over his lips, as if he could be able to reproduce the sweetness of Tatsuya's gesture. What an idiot, he was not ready to risk getting close to a sick Tatsuya again. His heart would not survive.

"Hiroto, we were waiting for you for training," Asuto's voice rose, as soon as he got outside. "Oh no, don't tell me you too have a fever!"

"Ah?" Hiroto mumbled, not getting what kind of nonsense he was talking about.

"Your face is even redder than Tatsuya's was…"


End file.
